Born To Die
by Emptyroomscanbesoloud
Summary: A collection of oneshots about Violet and Tate, both before they met and after the final episode of season one. Based on the song Born To Die be Lana Del Ray
1. Feet don't fail me now

Born to Die  
Feet don't fail me now/ take me to the finish line

The first time Tate walks in on her cutting herself -_You're doing it wrong. If you're trying to kill yourself cut vertically. They can't stitch that up. If you're trying to kill yourself, you might also try locking the door_. - was not the first time she thought about dying. No, not dying. Killing herself.

It was long before they moved into the Murder House, before her father cheated, before her mother lost the baby. They were still a happy, normal family. She was eleven, maybe twelve, and just starting to see the world for what it really was: vast and dark and cruel. To escape this newly discovered reality, she would climb up to the roof of their house. Her room - a converted attic space - had a very small window,barely large enough for a small, skinny girl to wriggle through. Just under her window was a teensy ledge that she could balance on if she stood all the way on her tippy toes. She was pleased that the years of ballet her mother had forced her into (that she secretly loved, but she would never admit that out loud, not to anyone, not ever) had come on handy in the real world. From the ledge, the lip of the roof was only just reachable if she stretched her hands up as far as she could. Sometimes, she had to do a very careful, very practiced little hop to grab it, and then she would be able to pull herself up enough to swing a leg over. She always remembered to lock her door, but leave the window open so that she could hear if anyone happened to call her from inside.

Some days she'd bring a book and a snack, or her homework, but mostly she just liked to sit and watch and think. It was quiet up there, and she liked to look out over the hundreds of identical houses that made up the gates community they lived in. It made her think that the world couldn't possibly be as enormous as they all said it was. Surely it ended where she stopped seeing the land laid out.

She often thought about what would happen if she fell off. But she'd never _fall _off, no. She was too careful for that. She'd have to jump. She would picture what her body would look like when she landed - SPLAT! - all twisted and broken. Would her brains be all over the sidewalk? Would her limbs bend at unnatural angles? She had a burning need to find out. Something inside her whispered seductively that she was invincible. It told her that such a little fall couldn't hurt her, much less kill her. Logically, she knew the voice was lying to her, but she felt compelled to do as it said and test the limits of her mortality.

Eventually, the evil little voice triumphed over her common sense. On the day it won, it was sunny, and there was a strong breeze that made her sway and whipped her hair about playfully. She stood from her usual spot and walked to the edge of the roof without realizing she had ever moved. Her toes peeked over into the cool wind, and the rush that gave her seemed only a preview of what was to come.

Someone in the street must have seen her standing up there, because the next thing she remembers is her father struggling out of her tiny window and heaving himself up onto the roof. He crept towards her slowly, a soft stream of gentle words falling from his mouth. _"Why don't you come away from there, Vi? Sweetheart, back away from the edge. Just back up slowly, baby. It's okay. I'll get you down. We'll be fine." _She rained where she way, letting the wind gently rock her as she stared at the cold gray pavement and the bright green grass.

When her father reached her, he pulled her into his arms like she was a baby. _"It's okay. I've got you. You're okay. You're safe now."_ He began carrying her back across the roof. _"I was only looking,"_ she mumbled dazedly.

Later, as her parents questioned her, and her father took the soft approach: _"Violet, honey, why were you on the roof?" _and her mother the louder, angry one:_ " What were you thinking? What would have happened if you'd fallen!?" _**I would have died**, she thought. But what she said was _"I was only looking"_ over and over again.

That was the first time that she felt the pull of the darkness, but not the last.


	2. Come Take A Walk On The Wild Side

Come take a walk on the wild side/ Let me kiss you in the pouring rain/ You like your girls insane

She wants to die. No, she needs to die. There's too much going on. In her head so much confusion and pain. And so very, very many lies. Tate wouldn't lie to her, not about something like this. Would he? She doesn't know. She doesn't know him anymore. She can't think straight, can't see through ed tears. All that stuff about Westfield can't be true. And those kids, the ones who came after them on Halloween...they were just playing a joke, a cruel stupid prank. They weren't really dead. Tate did _not_ kill them. He didn't set his mother's lover on fire - and,oh god, Constance is his mother - and then go to his school and shoot fifteen kids. The Tate she knows - knew- was dark, but he'd never go that far. And he wasn't dead. He didn't die before she was even born. But it all fit. You couldn't fake that many articles, even on the Internet. And the plaque in the library, and the paralyzed librarian _at her own school_. It all fits perfectly.

She instinctively reaches for the box of razors in her night table drawer, but pulls her hand back at the last moment. She made a promise to Tate...she promised she would NEVER use them again. _"Gross," she'd spat when he pressed his mouth against her still bleeding wrist. "You're right, it is. You mutilating yourself." He said matter of factly. "You do it," she retorted. "Not anymore. Promise me you'll never cut yourself again." The fierceness with which he'd said these words startled her. She looked away, holding back her answer. She couldn't believe that he was asking something so big of her, and what was even worse was that she'd wanted to immediately respond. She knew she was in over her he'd when she looked up at him and said:"I promise."_ No matter the circumstances, she refuses to break a promise.

She remembers the pills. Leah had given her almost a whole bottle. She digs through her backpack and pulls out the bottle. She pries off the lid and dumps a few into her clammy palm. There's more than enough to do the job, but she'll take the whole bottle, just to be sure. She twists the cap off her water bottle and shoves the pills in her mouth. She gags as they go down, but chases them with a gulp of water and another fistful of pills. Another drink of water, and other handful of pills, another step closer to peace. Occasionally, a tear will run into her mouth, and she'll taste a burst of saltiness. The bottle's half empty, and she's starting to feel the effects. Her eyes won't stay open all the way, and it feels like there's a weight on her chest, making her breathing labored and shallow, though that could be from the crying. She empties the bottle and slumps onto her bed. Her foot disturbs the empty bottle and knocks it off the bed. It rolls under her dresser. Her water bottle tips over, and the last bit of water soaks into her duvet. Her eyes close, and at last she is peaceful.

And then she's not. She's vomiting all over herself, an someone - Tate - is hiding her, and they are wet. Why is it raining? She thinks through the fog surrounding her brain. And then she realizes that if he can feel the spray of icy water, then she is still alive. Tate is crying, and kissing her, and stroking her hair, and she cries with him. She is still so tired. Tate must have tried to save her. Tate, the first boy to ever give her a flower - _I painted it black, I know how you don't like normal things_ - who shares her fascination of birds - _"I like birds too" he said, almost shyly. "Why do you like them?" He shrugged. "Because they can fly away when thing get too crazy, I guess." - _who loves her with an intensity she has never felt before - _there on her chalkboard, in giant, scrawled letters I LOVE YOU_ - Tate, who is dead. She can't go back to that. He'll have to understand that she -


	3. You and I, We Were Born To Die

**A/N: This chapter is pretty short, but I have two more to upload tonight...er, this morning? Sorry for any grammatical errors, it's very late/early. Please let me know if you catch any errors.**

* * *

You and I, we were born to die

_"Please, Tate, please. I don't want to die."_

_"It's too late for that Violet."_

When she took all those pills, she though she did want to die. But she changed her mind when she found out that the forever she thought she'd committed to wasn't nothingness, but a living death. Able to think and feel and die (again); the Murder House is merely a continuation of life.

Forever had seemed so easy when it was an escape. Now she knows it is hell. Stretched out before her, an eternity stuck in this damned house. A house chock full of spirits, both malicious and benign. The cast is colorful, she'll admit, but it includes her parents, her dead infant sibling and her...and Tate.

Her sweet, loving ( albeit dark) Tate, who turned out to be none of those things. He's beyond being consumed by darkness. He _**is**_ the darkness. He loves her, she does not doubt that. And she loves him, no matter how she denies it. But he is a murderer, a rapist...a monster. She doesn't regret sending him away, but that's probably because the last few days haven't quite sunk in yet. She's only been dead - well, only known she's dead for a few days. She's still coming to terms with that, discovering the rules of the house, the things she can and can't do. And then there's all the other to get to know.

There's sweet, mislead Nora who just wants a second chance at being a mother. Moira, who is tired of being dead. Hayden, who doesn't appear to have been changed much by death. Beau, who is shy and quiet but definitely the friendliest of them all. Thaddeus, who stays in the shadows and leaves her alone now that she's dead. Constance's lover Travis, the two girls in nurses uniforms, Nora's creepy husband...there's so many of them.

So, no, she doesn't regret sending Tate away, but she also knows its a question of when not if her will breaks and she calls him back.


	4. Watching and Waiting and Hoping

**A/N: another fairly short one, but I can only take so much of being inside Tate's head. Again, let me know if you spot any mistakes. **

It's been about a month since she sent him away. He's asked Nora to explain to her that he _did_ have good intentions, even if his actions were unspeakable. He watches as she tells Violet that he was only trying to repay her for saving his life as a child, for helping him adjust to life as a dead person, and for being more of a mother to him than Constance ever was. He thinks she believes it.

The thing is, Chad and Patrick... they couldn't give Nora what she wanted. Especially after they started fighting and decided not to adopt. So he killed them, jus to hurry along the inevitable fate that comes with living in the Murder House. Whether he enjoyed donning the gimp suit and wreaking havoc...well, that's not the point. The point is he was only trying to help.

And then when Violet and we parents moved in...Vivien seemed like the logical option. She could obviously carry children, and she seemed strong, willful. He didn't know about the miscarriage until after, or he wouldn't have chosen her at all. He would have just killed them all. When the deed was done, and he was sure she was carrying a baby for him to steal away to Nora, he felt no guilt. No, that would come later. He never considered Violet, not for one second. He wanted to protect her from the start.

Violet. She threw a wrench in his plans. She made him _feel_, somethin uncommon for him unless blood and death and screaming were involved. She _changed_ him, she really did. She made him feel guilt, regret, remorse, love, hate, passion. He loved her, and he was genuinely sorry for all the secrets he had to keep from her, for all the pain he had amused her and her family.

He never in a million years thought that the abomination he created was possible. He'd never heard the legend/prophecy that the child of a spirit (him) and a human (Vivien, her _mother_) would grow into the antichrist, bringer of death, destruction, and the apocalypse. He never expected the...thing to feed off its twin (the one fathered by Ben) and rip Vivien apart in the process.

Fathered. It's strange to think that he's a father, that somewhere out there he has a son. A son who is the fucking _antichrist_, and is being raised by a woman who couldn't take care of her own children, let alone someone else's. God, he hates Constance for stealing him away. He would have killed Michael, to protect Violet and the others, but no. Constance wants a shot at greatness- and she'll take it anyway she can get it.

And - he literally gags whenever he thinks this - technically Michael is Violet's _brother_. How sick is that? How must she feel, knowing he things he's done? He hopes she doesn't think she's his second choice, that he wanted Vivien but settle for her daughter. He doesn't blame her for sending him away... but he still wishes she hadn't. There's so much more he wants to say to her. He thinks a lot about her parting gift, the only time she ever said "_I love you_," followed by the worst possible punishment. He can see her, hear her, smell her; but he can't touch her or speak to her. He can't comfort her when she sits in the crawlspace next to her rotten corpse, avoiding her mother. He can't reassure her when Hayden torments her about her father, and claims that she's "gotten a piece of her boy toy" or when the teenage son of one of the families befriends her and then hangs himself in her bedroom.

He can only watch, and pray she'll let him come back to her one day.


	5. Lost But Now I Am Found

Lost but now I am found

It's the anniversary of her death, and she's alone. She still can't look at her mother without feeling sick, and her father has nothin to say to her now that he can't "fix" her. She gets the feeling that he blames her for everything, because she _is_ the one who brought Tate out if her father's office and into their personal lives.

The others can't remember what year it is, let alone days like this. Not that they'd care if they could remember. She's been wandering the house all day, trying to keep her mind off _him_ and actively avoiding the bathroom. Eventually she makes her way to her room. It's been changed in the two years since she's died, but she still thinks of it as hers. She wonders if he still thinks of it as his – **_no_**, she won't go there. She refuses to turn into Nora, crying all the time and forgetting she's dead. She makes the door slam behind her without touching it, and goes to flop on the bed.

She stops cold when she sees it. A thousand memories rush through her head. It makes her throat ache and her eyes fill with tears. She takes a shuddering breath, even though she no longer needs oxygen, just to try and calm herself. It looks harmless enough, really. It's just a sweater; a worn, old striped sweater. But it's _so_ much more. Tentatively, she lifts it off the bed. She almost tosses it aside, but changes her mind at the last minute. She looks around guiltily – though he or any of the others could be there, invisible, and she would be none the wiser – and hugs it to her chest. She buries her face in it and inhaled deeply. It still _smells_ like him.

She slips it over her head and remembers the last time she saw him wearing it. They were in the bathtub together, crying under the spray of icy water as he held her like she was the most precious thing in the world. She doesn't remember what happened next (she knows she died, but she still has no memory of it.) When she "woke up" in her bed, he had on different, dry clothes.

"Thank you," she whispers, swimming in memories. It's been two years, and while she hasn't forgiven him, she _misses_ him. At least she has proof he's still in the house. It's odd, how she instantly feels safer knowing he's watching over her. His promise to her echoes in her mind: "I would never let anybody or anything hurt you." But he broke that promise long before he made it. He hurt her, more than she ever thought was possible.

In that moment, though, she almost calls him back to her. Almost.


	6. Choose Your Last Words

Choose your last words / This is the last time

_"You knew you were dead." It's an accusation, not a statement. "Yeah," he frowns. "Do you know why?" He sighs. "The cops shot me. In this room." He at least remembers that much. Or maybe he's just lying again. She can't tell. "Why did they shoot you?" She demands. Tate looks confused. "I don't know." He sound like a frightened little boy, and that almost makes her falter, but then she thinks of her mother bleeding on the bedsheets downstairs and pushes on._

_"You __**murdered**__ people Tate. Kids, like us. The kids who came to us on Halloween." Hs beautiful brown eyes widen and his mouth drops open. "Why would I do that? Why would I do that? Why would I do that? Why would I do that?" So he wasn't lying before. He honestly didn't remember. It's too late to stop now, no matter how badly she just wants to hold him and tell him everything will be okay. "Why'd you kill the guys who lived here before us? Why would you __**rape**__ my __**mother**__?" She's being cruel, and she knows it. She likes it. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Tate whispers. It sounds like he means it, but the things he's done...they're unforgivable. "I used to think you were like me, you were attracted to the darkness. Tate, you __**are**__ the darkness." Twist the blade a little more, break his heart. It's the least she can do._

_"I was different then. You've changed me, Violet." He sounds like he's trying to convince himself more than her. "I believe that," she lies. "I love you Tate..." And she hates that it's the truth. "But I can't forgive you." Raise his hopes then crush them. Break him. Tear him apart. "You have to /pay/ for what you did. All the pain you caused, all the sorrow. You murdered my mother!" He flinches at her sudden shout. She clenches her jaw, regaining control over her emotions, tucking them away to be dealt with later. "No!" She steps backwards. "Yes, you did! The baby...whatever it was, it killed her. I can't be with you, I __**won't**__ be with you." He steps towards her, she moves away. It's a dance, a dark, twisted dance. "What are you saying?" His eyes are full of tears._

_"I'm saying go away," she spits coldly. "What? No! Don't do this!" He begs, but she stands her ground. He's crying, and so is she. They seem to do that a lot, the two of them. "Go away, Tate," she says forcefully. "You're all I want! You're all I have!" But he's already fading. She squeezes her eyes shut. "Go away! Go away!" His screams mix with her own as she banishes him. When she opens her eyes, she is alone._

That day still echoes in her mind. Sometimes she relives every moment of it, like she's there again. Most of the time it's on the fray of things, like a song stuck in her head. It's been almost eleven years since that day. She hasn't said his name, not even alone in the darkness of her - their- bedroom in over a decade. She can't say it aloud without calling him back, but she can say it her head all she wants. Over and over, a constant stream of _Tatetatetatetatetate_ that never lets her forget even for a moment, that she's in love with a monster.

A few weeks after she sent him away she slipped down to the basement to find Nora. She'd pretended to smile and lied through her teeth to the poor confused woman. Violet had promised her a baby, the very same baby that was already dead and waiting for her, in exchange for some answers about being dead. Nora had eagerly explained as much as she knew. "Oh, and if any of the spirits in this house ever give you any trouble, any at all, you just tell them to go away. They'll still be able to see you, but you won't see them, and they can't harm you or even speak to you. Just be careful with names. Names have a certain...power in this house." Then Nora had asked about "her baby" to which Violet replied: "Your baby's dead, Nora," And left the befuddled ghost to wander around crying for her baby.

She's found over time that she is the only one who cannot see him. Her father talks to him, though he never mentions it to her. But she knows. Countless times, she's walked into a room and her father has been talking to an empty chair. There's always a moment after she enters the room where her father looks between a particular place of "nothing" and Violet; and she can _feel_ his eyes on her. She refuses to look at him on purpose to punish him that much more.

Times like those are what make her almost cave. Once, she'd almost undone all her hard work in a moment of vulnerability. She'd felt his eyes on her suddenly, felt a presence unnaturally close to her back, and his smell had overpowered the cookies the newest resident was baking. "Ta...king a walk. Want to come?" Her mother had given her an odd look. She'd take that any day over having to see him before she's ready. She could practically taste the disappointment in the air as she quickly exited the kitchen.

She's taken to walking the perimeter of the property, balancing on the low stone wall that imprisons them all, because she knows he hates it. He hates knowing the absolute limits of his roaming, prefers to stay inside and pretend he doesn't know he's trapped forever. At least, he did when she was alive. She'll sit with her feet in the pool that Marcy had put in to make the place more appealing. The water always feels icy, the exact temperature of the shower the day she died. The pool always makes her thoughts wander to Moira and Hayden. They were so happy when they found out they would be found. The day they'd cemented the shallow end of the pool a foot over their bodies, Moira had caused an "accident" that killed two of the workers.

Violet sympathizes with her. To one so close to escaping this house not once, but twice, and having it snatched away each time... she couldn't bear it. She been in the same position two years before, when she'd befriended the latest family's teenage son using the same neighbor guise as Tate. She'd brought him up to the attic, gotten him so close to the crawlspace where she was now nothing more than bones and rags. They'd been interrupted by Maria and Gladys, and the boy killed himself two days later, driven mad by the house. To be honest, she's not even sure that having her corpse found would free her from the Murder House. Lorraine and her girls weren't buried or hidden on the property, but they were trapped all the same. So were Elizabeth, Chad, Patrick, and...Tate. In fact, she's pretty sure Moira made the whole thing up, just to give herself a bit of hope, something to hold on to. She's pretty sure that they're all stuck, no matter what.


End file.
